


Reunion

by h311agay



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Slight Canon Divergence, allusions to character deaths, mostly canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13140069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h311agay/pseuds/h311agay
Summary: Richie Tozier was always in love with Eddie Kaspbrak but never had the means to pursue a lasting relationship with him before their paths diverged for two decades. When he sees him again, Richie can't help but still feel that same love he felt for him as a teenager, but now isn't the time for the rekindling of flames, not when the Losers have much more serious problems at hand. Richie, however, was just a little too drunk to open his motel door and Eddie was just a little too nice to open it for him.





	Reunion

Richie was chewing on the inside of his cheek as the taxi cab he sat in pulled into the parking lot of the motel he had booked mere hours before. Being in Derry again was bringing back age-old memories that has be tucked carefully away, but they came in snippets, overwhelming snippets. Twice the cab had to pull over for him to dry heave over the edge of the road. Everything was blurry still, the memories so carefully shoved into the corner of his mind that pulling them out was a tedious and painful job. The V of the vacancy sign flickered as the cab came to a halt. "We're here," the driver said, snapping Richie from his daze.

"T'ank ye very much, me good sir!" He said over-enthusiastically, his Irish Cop Voice slipping in. He paid the fare and then left a decent tip, almost like a silent apology for almost heaving in the cab. He grabbed his suitcase from the trunk and went up to the desk, giving his name, taking his key, going to his room. He crinkled his nose at the musty smell of the room. Almost like it was stagnant. Which, he supposed, wasn't a far cry from the truth. Derry wasn't a popular town by far and the most action this motel would see would be the few strange tourists, people only passing through and needing a bed for the night, and people sneaking off for affairs. It could have been years since the last person who slept in this room had been there for all Richie knew. He set his suitcase on the chair, sniffing as dust tickled his nose and waving his hand through the air to disperse it. 

He sighed loudly, closing his eyes against a barrage of memories, threatening him with vomit. There was blood and broken bones and screaming, the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and suddenly he was breaking out in a cold sweat, the stale smell of coal overwhelming him. He moved slowly, afraid that running would make him retch, to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet, gently hugging it and setting his head on the cold porcelain. It's okay, Richie my boy, he thought to himself, before flinching at the volume of his thoughts, making his head swim more. 

"By God," he moaned lowly, "just throw up you goddamn pussy." And then he did. He curled up next to the toilet when he was done, feeling clammy and cold, the linoleum not helping him in the slightest, but he was too tired to move, too tired to get up. Too tired to face IT.

 

He showed up at the restaurant Mike told him to meet him and the rest of the Losers at, dressed nicely with nothing to show that he was throwing up and freaking out earlier. All night he made crude jokes and did nothing but laugh to hide his true fear. When Eddie arrived, Richie could feel years worth of repression bubbling in his gut, and he swallowed, suddenly feeling the need to vomit again. His hair was so much lighter than the last time he had seen him, and he had thin-wire frame glasses on; Richie had forgotten Eddie started wearing glasses during their senior year. "Spaghetti Man!" He cried out, throwing an arm around Eddie, who still stood shorter than him much to Richie's delight.

"Beep beep, Tozier," Eddie said, a small smile on his face, shy and --

"Cute! Cute, cute, cute, cute! Still as cute as a peach, Eds."

"God, no, please don't call me that, Richie!"

"Eds, how I've missed you so." He used the arm around Eddie's shoulders to pull him into a tight embace, loudly and dramatically kissing Eddie on the forehead and pulling away with a MWAH.

Beverly laughed from her seat, "You really haven't changed, have you?"

Eddie groaned as he wiped the back of his hand where Richie kissed him, "no, he really hasn't. We're adults now, Richie, stop picking on me."

"Picking on you? You think this is picking on you? I can show you what picking on you really is," Richie crooned as he reached toward Eddie's ribs, poking him and enticing a small screech from the otherr.

"RICHIE!"

Richie poked him again, and again, then proceeded to chase him around the table, poking him and making kissing noises. 

Eventually they all settled down and sat at the table, Richie next to Eddie, who was next to Bill who was next to Beverly who was next to Ben who was next to Mike. "Where's Stan the Man," Richie asked, turning around in his seat to look back at the entrance behind him, squinting his eyes to see further. The seat on the other side of him was empty, the seat between him and Mike, Stan's seat.

Mike sighed some, "He said he'd be here, maybe his flight got delayed or he got caught up in something. He'll be here," Mike sounded so sure, but something wasn't settling right with Richie and suddenly, he felt the need to vomit once more.

"'e betta be 'ere!" Richie was using another of his Voices, this one a bad cockney accent, higher pitched and almost whiny. "If 'e ain't, I'm gon' go find 'im maself an' pop 'im a nice wan righ' in the sucka! If I can make it 'ere the 'ole way from Sunny Cala-forn-ee-ah in jus' a wee few 'ours, ya bet yer righ' arse Stan the Man can get 'ere!"

Eddie was laughing next to Richie and suddenly Richie felt like a teenager again, giddy and drunk off the sound of his friends laughing. "Th-that was such a bad Voice, Richie," Eddie said through watery eyes.

"Only the best for you, Eds, my dear."

"Don't call me Eds."

Most of the dinner continued in that fashion, the six of them catching up, telling stories, getting drunk off of cheap white wine. Richie pepper his conversation with Voices and each time, the other five laughed and told him he sucked, but the way they said it, with love in their voices, Richie felt on top of the world. At one point, Eddie's knee bumped into his and Richie let his hand slip under the table and patted Eddie's knee, the others were all listening to a story Ben was telling.

At the knee pat, Eddie looked up at Richie, eyes a little hazy behind his glasses and cheeks pink from alcohol. He smiled when Richie smiled. "It's good to see you again, Eds," Richie said softly, as not to disrupt Ben's story.

The bright smile that Eddie gave him made Richie warmer than the alcohol ever could have. "You too, Rich," he said giddly before turning back to Ben, but he didn't move his knee away or comment on how Richie's hand was still sitting there.

 

After the terrifying events in the library, the Losers had made their way back to the motel, surprisingly, they were all -- save for Mike who had his own home -- staying there, and because of the abundant popularity of the motel, their rooms were straight down the hall from each other, one after the other. Curious, a little tipsy, and just being himself, Richie approaced the tired looking woman at the front desk. 

"Hello, my fair lady," he said in a posh tone, Eddie giggled from where he was standing with the others a few feet back. "I've come to you on this fine night with an inquiry of utmost importance."

She gave him a forced smile, "and what might that be?"

"By chance, has a Stanely Uris made a reservation at this fine abode? He was supposed to meet the six of us for fine dining earlier and never arrived, and when we called, we recieved no answer." Before she could respond, Richie continued. "See, usually my question would be far-fetched, but Derry is such a small town, and by the force of God I do believe, the five of us who do not live here any longer all made reservations in this very motel, leading me to believe that if the same God who placed us here watches over Stan, he will also have made a reservation here." He was slurring just a bit and the woman blinked in the way most people blink around Richie, like they're trying to ground themselves.

"I can check, but the name doesn't ring any bells." She pulled out the reservation book and scanned before putting it away and shaking her head. "Sorry, sir, but the name isn't in the record anywhere, so maybe he reserved a room elsewhere?"

"Mayhaps," Richie said before saluting her drunkenly and walking back to the group. "Alas, my friends, Stanely will not be sleeping under the same roof as we do."

"We can call again in the mrorning," Bill said, and that was enough to make them all nod and start heading for the stairs. "Get home safe, Mike," Bill said, leading the others to echo the same sentiment.

"See you guys in the morning."

 

Richie fumbled to get his keys out of his pocket and glanced down the hallway. At the very end was Beverly's room, and across from her was Bill's. Next to him was Ben and across from him, Eddie's. Which left Richie next to Eddie's room, and for some reason, Richie's heart lept to his throat. He went to put his key in his door and swore as he dropped it.

He heard Eddie laugh lightly and looked up as Eddie came over. "Don't laugh at me, Eds," he scoffed.

"Lightweight," Eddie accused him, taking the keys from Richie's hands as he struggled to insert them again. Eddie's hands were more steady than Richie's and he got the keys in on the first try.

"I'm not a lightweight, how could you even accuse me of that? Besides, I'll be honest with you Spaghetti Man -- " 

"Don't call me that"

" -- I've been a nervous, anxious wreck ever since I got Mike's phone call. I think this is a suicide mission and we should all turn tails now and forget whatever stupid promise we all made thirty fucking years ago - "

"Twenty-seven"

"Whatever, long enough. I don't want to die at the hands of some crazy clown, Eddie. I really don't. I got a good life made for myself, a good job, a -- "

"Wife?"

"No, not anymore. Divorce number three," he said, sitting down on his bed as Eddie closed the door behind him. Eddie moved Richie's suitcase and sat on the chair, sneezing a few times as dust scattered again.

"Don't they clean these rooms," he scowled. "Number three you said?"

"Yeah, there'd probably be a fourth if gay marriage was legal, but I guess it's a good thing it isn't because he would've have cleaned me out.'

"You dated a guy?" Eddie's voice was mildly surprised.

"Oh, yeah, a few. Eds you know I'm --"

"I'm married," he said softly.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Happy marriage?"

Eddie looked at him for a long time and Richie could feel his throat getting tight with anxiety. His palms were sweating and he wiped them on his pants. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eddie answered. "No," he said quietly. "I might as well have married my mother."

Richie let out a bark of laughter and Eddie flinched, looking at him in surprise. "Eddie Spaghetti, that was supposed to be my job!"

"You're disgusting!"

"Hey," Richie said in mock defensiveness, "I'm not the one who married my mother."

Eddie sighed. "I didn't want to marry her, but my mother pushed and pushed and pushed and literally asked Myra for me. I couldn't tell her I didn't want to get married, because I would have felt like an asshole and I sure as hell couldn't tell her that I'm... well... you know."

Eddie sighed and continued, "I told her, promised her, I'd be back but a part of me.... a part of me really doesn't want to go back to her."

"Why not divorce her?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because she -- she's my... If I divorce her, I'm back on the dating scene and I can't be single again. I show a girl the ring and they back off, 'I'm married,' is all I have to say and nothing else. I don't have to explain why I don't want to have a one night stand with some stranger, or why I can't go on a date with someone. They assume it's because I love my wife and not because I'm..."

"She's your beard," Richie said with understanding.

"Yeah," Eddie breathed. "I don't want to die, Richie, but I don't want to go back to her, but I don't want to start my whole life over."

Richie gestured for Eddie to come sit next to him. "I think you should end things with her, and maybe move somewhere with a bigger gay scene. Where you'd be more accepted. I lived in Seattle for a while, met some nice guys out there; what's to stop you from doing the same?"

"I -- "

"Nothing is stopping you but yourself, Eds. You're holding yourself back from happiness. You're how old? Forty? You're in an unhappy marriage, closeted... all because you're scared."

"You think it's easy, Richie?" He hissed, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses and staying rooted to the chair. "Of course I'm scared! Don't you remember highschool? I wasn't even out and yet Smear the Queer was everyone's favourite game when it came to me. Remember Faggot Lover being painted on Bill's garage? Remember the noose my mother found in our yard? How many years of death threats did I have to endure? Of course I'm scared, because every day people like me get killed just because they exist."

"I didn't say it was easy, Eds. Fuck, I get death threats sent to the station I work at in California almost daily at this point. I've had my windows broken on the apartment I shared with one of my ex-boyfriends. I'm speaking from experience, not ignorance. It's fucking scary, but once you've come out, once you stop letting them scare you, you become so liberated, Eds."

"I don't want to go throught it alone," Eddie said voice scared.

"You don't have to," Richie gestured for Eddie to come sit beside him again and this time Eddie joined him, sitting so close their legs touched. "You're never alone, Eddie."

Eddie laid his head on Richie's shoulder and Richie had to fight from holding his breath. It's been over a decade, Tozier, he told himself. He's moved on, you should move on, too. Don't let a reunion trick you into thinking you're still in love.

"You said you were scared to die, Richie," Eddie said softly. "Well, Trashmouth, I'm so, so scared to live." He lifted his head off of Richie's shoulder and out of the corner of Richie's eyes, he could see Eddie turn to face him. "But I don't want to be scared anymore."

Richie turned to look at Eddie and was suddenly drowning in his eyes, heart in his throat and choking him. "My dreams aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be," he said softly and Eddie looked at him quizically.

"Excuse me?"

"It's from a song. Behind Blue Eyes? By The Who?"

"Dammit, Richie --" Eddie sounded frustrated but instead of saying anything else, he grabbed Richie by his face and kissed him. When he finally pulled back, shaking some, Richie could see tears in Eddie's eyes and that's when he realised he had been so surprised that he hadn't kissed Eddie back. "Richie, I'm sor--"

Richie Tozier had never been the most sensible man, or the most serious, but he knew in this moment that if he didn't rectify years worth of pining, that if they went to bed tonight without laying themselves bare, he would lose Eddie Kaspbrak for the second time in his life. So before Eddie could take back the kiss with tear-heavy words, Richie leaned in and closed the distance between them, kissing him again and swallowing the words Eddie was going to say.

They kissed until they couldn't breathe, and then kept kissing until their heads were going dizzy and fuzzy. Richie blinked past the haze in his vision, pullinng Eddie into his lap, body buzzing like he was a teenager again and had snuck into Eddie's room using the tree in his front yard. He remembered their first kiss so suddenly and so vividely, the deseration, the fear, the need. It felt so much like the way they had just been kissing. He buried his face into Eddie's neck and kissed at it, shaking at the sounds that left Eddie. He was getting handsy, and a rational part of him was screaming that he was being nothing more than a homewrecker, but another part of him was reminding him that Eddie was gay and not really in love with his wife. And then there was a part of him that wanted to go further, wanted Eddie gripping the mattress in desperation, crying out Richie's name and gasping for air, chest arching off the bed and hips colliding. And that part of him was growing, both mentally and physically. 

Eddie shifted on his lap and then groaned in the back of his throat, shifting again and then again, making Richie's breath catch and hips jerk up slightly. "Eddie," he said, voice rough.

Richie felt like a teenager again, God, he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd gotten it up so fast, definitely not any time recently with his ex. Oh, no, no thinking about your ex, Richie scolded himself, focusing back on Eddie as he felt his ass come back down onto his groin. Every memory of Eddie grinding down onto him flashed by, and as beautiful as Eddie had been as a teenager, none of the memories could live up to the current moment. The exhilaration, the desperation, the absolute focus on Eddie's face was almost as good as his weight coming down onto Richie's lap. Years, decades even, of pent up sexual tension and words unsaid, actions undone between them was finally spilling over. Richie's hands finally settled on Eddie's hips, and he tugged him downward as he thrust his hips up, lifting his head just enough to kiss Eddie on the mouth again, drinking in the needy moan that echoed between them both.

Eddie pulled away from the kiss first this time, panting and rolling his hips with a high, keening whine. "Richie," he said breathlessly and thick. "Richie please, please I need you."

"Eddie," he said, pulling Eddie closer to his body so he could turn and push Eddie onto the bed, kissing at his neck again and tugging at Eddie's belt. "Fuck, Eds," he pressed a hard and hot kiss right into Eddie's clavical, who let out a desperate gasp for air and arched up into Richie.

It was a hot, sweaty blur, the lights were on but neither were really seeing each other. Richie was too invested in getting their clothes off, trying to shuck off his own shoes while undoing Eddie's suit jacket and slacks. He doubted Eddie could really even see anymore, his glasses had been haphazardly thrown onto the nightstand, and the hands that had been busy with the glasses were retreating to Richie's own shirt. Eddie somehow got it up over Richie's head without having to fully unbutton it, and soon they both had their shirts off, working on their shoes with frustrated impatience. Finally, they were reduced to nothing more than their boxers, shivering against each other and kissing again. Richie's skin burnt where Eddie touched him and he couldnt help how he immediately, at the sight of so much bare and untouched flesh, latched onto Eddie's shoulder and left a dark hickey in his wake.

After more intense kissing, they slowed down, shifted the mood from desperation to quiet passion. Richie spent a long time making sure Eddie was ready, and eventually, with a slow kiss, they were having sex. As much as Richie wanted to make up for all the years they missed out on doing this and fuck Eddie with all he had, there was something so much better in taking it slow. He watched how Eddie's face twisted and moved, his expressions constantly changing. He felt Eddie dig his nails into his shoulder blades and he his slightly and bent himself lower toward Eddie who only dug his nails in deeper in retaliation. They moved together, slowly, letting the heat between them build until it was so hot they could hardly breathe.

Eddie begged suddenly, voice thick with emotions. Richie kissed at Eddie's neck and felt his fluttery pulse beneath his lips. "I got you, Eddie," he said quietly, shifting somewhat and sliding an arm under Eddie's back, pulling them chest to chest and supporting them both with that one arm as his other hand snaked down to stroke Eddie to his peak. When Richie came, and then when he came down from the high of it, he was breathing heavily, holding onto a crying and shaking Eddie.

He kissed away the tears, asking Eddie what was wrong.

"Nothing," he said weakly, sniffing. "Everything. What happens now?"

"Now? We go to sleep and talk in the morning," Richie said gently, shifting so he could lay next to Eddie, and not on him. He pulled the other against his chest.

"But..." Eddie stopped his protest, sighing heavily against Richie's chest.

"It's okay, Eds. I promise that we'll sit and talk things out in the morning, settle everything. But right now, we should sleep."

He knew Eddie couldn't really argue with him on that, and after a few seconds, Eddie replied.

"Okay," he said thickly. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Eddie curled up against him more, pressing a hand against Richie's chest, right over his heart and sighing again, and within a few moments, Richie could hear his breathing change to something deeper, something heavier. Eddie was asleep.

He buried his face into the waves of Eddie's hair and took a deep breath, feeling content and complacent for the first time since Mike had called him. If he had known any better, had know this would be the last time he held a living Eddie in his arms, he might have savoured it just a little bit more.

**Author's Note:**

> I might make a part two to this, which follows the events of the book a little more. Something with Richie and Eddie talking, leading the whole way up to the fight with IT, and what will follow. Interested? Let me know please.


End file.
